House of the Red Fish (4 page)

But now we had barbed wire stretched across our beaches, and old trucks and cars parked in the way of any ocean landing, and we had the army sitting in foxholes, and the BMTC, the Hawaii Rifles, Civil Defense, and the VVV, the Varsity Victory Volunteers, who were Japanese American university ROTC cadets dismissed from the program after Pearl Harbor. They wanted to join the army and do their part, but after Japan attacked us no Japanese Americans were allowed to enlist. So they started the VVV and did what they could on their own, mostly building things and stringing barbed wire for the military.

And then there were guys like me and my friends with our BB guns and slingshots stashed in the corners of our closets.

Still, fear had me by the throat.

What saved me that night was Papa’s boat. I lay in the dark, thinking: There has to be a way to bring it up, just has to.

Somehow, someway, the
Taiyo Maru
was coming up.

The next morning, as always, I caught a ride to school with Billy and his parents, me and Billy in the backseat. My whole family liked the Davises. Mrs. Davis was a nurse, blond, as tall as Mr. Davis, and quiet, but strong, too, as Mama described her. She was the kind of person who thought before speaking, then said just exactly what was on her mind. Billy told me she’d been raised in Africa, the only child of two missionary doctors. She was quiet because she spent so much of her life worrying about people who had nothing, and it bothered her that there was very little she or anyone else could do about it, Billy said. But sometimes she’d break out into the loudest laugh you ever heard. It was always a jolt to me.

Mr. Davis grew up on a ranch near Galveston, Texas, and was a big boss down at Matson Shipping. He and Papa often
talked about fishing, and boats, and how they were both drawn to a big sky with lots of sun and wide-open spaces. Mr. Davis was kind of skinny and sometimes goofy, with curly brown hair, glasses, and an Adam’s apple that made him look like he’d gotten an egg stuck in his throat. Sometimes he went around talking like a cowboy, his accent like a tickle in my ears. It embarrassed Billy but always made me laugh.

I wasn’t in the car five seconds before Billy said, “We shot at our own planes last night. Five bombers were flying in from the mainland and got lost over the blacked-out island.”

“Ho, really? They were ours?”

“Luckily, none of them got hit.”

“We can thank the low clouds we had last night,” Mr. Davis said over his shoulder. “It could have been disastrous.”

“Spooky,” I said.

Mr. Davis turned out onto the street. Mrs. Davis sat with her eyes closed, her freckled elbow out in the breeze. She worked at Queen’s Hospital and hardly ever got enough sleep, Billy said. Since Pearl Harbor she’d been working twelve-hour days and was only now starting to cut back.

“They all got down fine,” Mr. Davis added. “Just a little shaken up.”

“Shook me up too,” I mumbled.

We rode in silence after that, heading down the green-hedged street and turning out onto Nu’uanu Avenue near the Piggly Wiggly grocery store. All I could think about was bombs, gunfire, bayonets, and graves.

I looked up when I remembered: my gas mask!

Billy’d forgotten his, too. I made a motion, putting my hand over my face. Billy raised a finger, whispering, “Shhh.”

I grinned. At least one thing wasn’t so serious.

The whole way over to Roosevelt High School Mrs. Davis slept. Or maybe she was thinking about what could have happened last night if those planes had been hit. More than any of us, she knew about death. She told Billy that when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor she’d seen more dead bodies and beat-up people than she ever cared to see again. Enough was enough.

Mr. Davis pulled over in front of the school.

We got out and thumped the door shut.

“Billy,” Mrs. Davis said, frowning. “Where’s your gas mask?”

“Uhh … I forgot it.”

She looked at me. “You too, huh?”

I stared at my feet.

“You boys need to start carrying those around again. I know it’s safer now, but it’s still dangerous.”

“Sure, Mom.”

Mrs. Davis shook her head.

Billy waved as his dad gave us a thumbs-up and drove off to the hospital, taking the shortest possible route because of gas rationing. Most people only got ten gallons a month.

I glanced up at the school, a red-roofed white building that sat above the street on a grassy rise. The wide slope where we always found our friends Mose and Rico waiting for us was covered with kids … but no Mose and no Rico.

“Must have gone in already,” Billy said, though it was still early and Mose and Rico, who were cousins, always
stalled as long as they could before going into any classroom.

Inside the school we ran into Mr. Ramos, our history teacher—he was also Mose and Rico’s uncle. He’d been our science teacher last year, but since some of the men teachers had gone off to war, he was now teaching classes in a few grades. Mose said Mr. Ramos wanted to go help out in the war too, but the principal begged him to stay. They needed him at school, because nobody could work with the boys like he could. He was the best teacher I’d ever had.

“Morning, boys,” Mr. Ramos said. “How’s things?”

“Good,” Billy said.

“Where’s Mose and Rico?” I said.

“You didn’t hear!”

“Hear what?”

“Rico got shot.”

“What!” we both said.

Mr. Ramos put up his hands. “He’s okay. But last night he took a twenty-two in his … his rear end.”

Me and Billy glanced at each other. I felt shaky.

“They were roaming around after dark with their BB guns like they weren’t supposed to, and some fool took a shot at them. Actually, it was about five shots, but only one hit. Those boys should have known better than to be out after curfew.”

“Who shot at them?” I said.

“One of those guys walks around keeping the curfew or whatever they think they’re doing. Listen to me: don’t mess around at night, you understand? It’s still very dangerous out there, and it will stay that way for a while.”

We nodded.

Shot in the
okole.
Ho. It was almost funny, except when you realized that he could have been hit someplace that could have killed him. “Where’s Rico now, Mr. Ramos?”

“Oh, he’ll be here today. Probably missed his bus. He’s walking kind of slow today, I’m sure.”

“Yeah … well, see you in class.”

Mr. Ramos tapped my shoulder, then shook Billy’s hand and went on down to his classroom.

Hoo … Rico … shot in the butt?

Me and Billy walked down the hall, silent as cats … then broke out laughing.

An hour after school started Rico limped in on crutches. His nurse—Mose—followed. The look on Rico’s face was so much like a sick dog’s I didn’t know whether to hold my breath or laugh.

Mr. Ramos waved for Mose and Rico to come up front where Rico could sit with his legs stretched out. Or try to sit.

“Sorry we’re late, Uncle,” Mose said. “Rico moving kind of slow.”

“I see that. Before you sit down, Rico, you want to tell the class what happened to you?”

“No,” Rico mumbled.

Mose turned up his palms and shrugged.

Rico switched both crutches to one hand and eased down, wincing. He set the crutches on the floor and sat staring at his hands, pressed flat on his desk.

“He got shot,” Mose said.

Everyone in class who didn’t know sat stunned.

“In the butt,” Mose added, grinning.

“Shuddup.” Rico slapped Mose with the back of his hand. “Tst.” A few snickers erupted in the back row, but most just sat blank-eyed, probably wondering if it was a joke or what.

“That’s right,” Mr. Ramos said. “Rico got shot.”

The room fell silent.

“Rico took a bullet because he was out after curfew. Some people just have to learn things the hard way, you know?”

He paused in front of Rico’s desk.

Rico wouldn’t look at him.

Mr. Ramos went on. “But to the rest of you, let me say it again—do
not
go out after dark. It’s very, very dangerous. Rico was lucky, and I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. But
please,
follow the rules and respect the curfew. These are very unstable times. Okay? Will you do that for me?”

We all nodded, mumbled, sure, sure.

Later that day when school let out, me and Billy walked with Mose and Rico down to the bus stop. All of us went home on the city bus, them one way, me and Billy another.

“So, Rico,” I said. “Did it hurt to get shot?”

“Naah. Like a bee sting. It’s nothing.”

“Pshh,” Mose spat. “He cried like a baby.”

“You don’t shut it up Mose I going remake your face.”

“You’re lucky the guy only had a twenty-two,” Billy said.

“Right about that, brah,” Mose said. “If he had a big gun Rico might only have one cheek now.”

“Tst,” Rico said. “You really starting to burn me up, you know, Mose … ah?”

Mose put up his hands in surrender.

“Mr. Wilson shot at me one time,” I said. “With a forty-five. But he didn’t know it was me. That was at night too.”

“A forty-five would blow a big hole in you,” Billy said.

“Boom! No more
okole,
ah, Rico?” Mose said, dancing away just as Rico swung a crutch at him.

Mose and Rico’s bus came and they got on. We watched Rico in the windows, hopping his way back to the last seat. He waved a crutch at us, and the bus lumbered off, coughing black smoke.

Back on our street, Billy said, “You know that idea you had about trying to bring up your dad’s boat?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. It’s such a crazy idea it’s interesting. I still think it’s impossible … for us, anyway … but forget that for a moment. I was thinking, what would the army have to say about it? I mean, they put it there, right?”

I scowled. “So?”

“So don’t you think the first thing you should do is see if … well, if you could get in trouble, or something … if you messed around with the boat, I mean?” Billy cocked his head. “It would be kind of like breaking someone out of jail, you know?”

That made me smile. “Yeah … but I wouldn’t want to get shot down before I even started.”

“But what if you could get arrested?”

“They wouldn’t arrest me for trying to save our own boat.”

“You sure about that?”

“No.”

Billy thought for a moment. Why’d he have to bring this up? I would just do it, that was all. The army didn’t have to know. But I knew he was right. The last thing my family needed was more trouble.

“We could ask Mr. Ramos,” Billy said.

I shook my head. “Maybe later. First I want to see if I can even figure out how to do it.”

Billy shrugged. “Makes sense. But sooner or later we have to check that out, you know? Maybe even get permission, or something.”

“Yeah, I know. But for now I want to keep it quiet.”

“Sure. For now.”

We walked up the path to my house, the afternoon warm and still. Billy was just saying out loud what had passed through my mind the night before, lying awake: would the military care? I didn’t want to ask and to take the chance of bringing the boat back into the army’s mind when they seemed to have forgotten about it.